


loose ends of infinity

by shanyuan



Series: the worlds we traverse [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bittersweet, F/M, First Meetings, Nichesa, Nicholas Aliaksei is Bad at Feelings, OC Belarus, OC Manila, Rare Pairings, Self-Indulgent, Vague Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:15:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28007574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanyuan/pseuds/shanyuan
Summary: Dreams were fleeting, Nicholas likes to believe, and so was she. No matter how much the universe persisted, they just weren't meant to be, or at least—that's what he thinks.orNicholas is afraid of his soulmate for a multitude of reasons.
Relationships: 2P!Nyo!Belarus | Nicholas Aliaksei Orlovski/Manila | Chesa Julyanna Légazpi
Series: the worlds we traverse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051337





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> soulmate au wherein you are able to see bits of your alternate lives with your soulmate through dreams.
> 
> credits to user ayselz for creating her sunshine manila oc — also to cly and yumi for their muses! (finland 'sonas + america, nyo!south italy)

His heart was pounding hard against his chest, threatening to leap out of his ribcage with each erratic beat.

Nicholas Aliaksei Orlovski was eight years old when it happened for the first time. He dreamt of a land ruled by monarchs, divided into separate kingdoms, and one particular territory had a king—a great one, at that, and Her Majesty had a smile that was as high as the crown of jewels on her head; diamonds in mystifying hues of green, blue, periwinkle, all dazzling in their own right. She reached out her hand for him to take, warm and welcoming, with locks of brown hair resembling the dark ambers of the sunset. He woke up, bewildered, right before the moment his fingers in the dream started to intertwine with her own. Once he came to his senses, he saw one line etched on the front of his wrist, taunting him until he was rendered breathless and astonished, the ghost of his pulse still palpable and unsteady.

The next one occurred on the night he slept in the hospital because his sister, Natalya, was taken in due to severe dehydration. It took place three years after the first dream. The same girl was there again; barefooted along the sandy shores of an isolated archipelago, dark gloves surrounding the same hands he vaguely recalled holding onto, with a crisp smile and a wandering gaze. He watched her wave goodbye to him as she ventured towards the docks, soon making her way to the towering structure of what seems to be a ship. The breeze from the ocean felt lucid and tangible, but the cold mist slipped through his fingers as he found himself gradually regaining consciousness, soon seeing two lines instead of one atop his skin, aggravation creeping up his spine.

On the night succeeding his sixteenth birthday, he laments irritably at the sight of that  _ damned _ girl; a variety of colored fabrics surrounding her body, forming some sort of robe—long enough to the extent that the hem trailed behind her as she walked. She added quirky skips to her steps, pure and utter magic radiating off her as small glyphs surrounded her fingertips. That was the first time he saw himself in his dream. He had long hair, with the same shade of platinum blond, and he wore an armor. There was an unfamiliar crest on his chestplate, noting the silver lance that was settled onto his back, the subtle sound of steel colliding with steel echoing fondly inside his head. He tried to keep up with the lady; a waft of lavender and peculiar concoctions clouding his sense of smell, but she had dark brown eyes, and somehow, that was all he could think of despite the lingering scents. The sky was violet—the clouds were bright, as bright as her. She was beautiful. Captivating and strong, and he felt like an idiot for turning away whenever she looked at him in the eye, offering him her widest grin. He woke up in a sweat; dwelling on the third line that grew apparent on his wrist.

If he found himself silently yearning for the strange person in his dreams, then he would never admit it.

The fourth one left him speechless for weeks. It was quick and confusing and fucking  _ frustrating _ because it felt like centuries of pain—all crammed in one dream. It started off with whispers of the Pearl of the Orient Seas, and the hushed rumors of its growing capital. Then, it was curious glances, an exchange of consistent messages, smiles and weary hearts. There was a zoo; a kitchen, museums and clubs in a seemingly warm place, and a challenge. The girl was there—she was livelier here compared to her parallel incarnations. Happier. Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes sometimes, but she was still beautiful, all the same. Maybe Nicholas didn't love her there—because there was a festival; and the last thing he saw before waking up was a vision of him stomping away from her with heavy shoulders and an even heavier chest, his frustration slowly turning into hot tears that he wiped away begrudgingly as he walked. The fourth line appeared on his wrist the next morning, but he was too enamored by his thoughts to wallow over it.

Age twenty-four, he was taking an afternoon nap in his office when the final dream occurred. There, he stood on top of someone's front porch, the ghost of a red string wrapped around his finger, flickering lightly. There was no one there but him—for a while. Soon, the string fumbles across the concrete, a newspaper getting tossed to his side. When he looked up, the girl was there, and she was carrying a bag that smelled an awful lot like fresh bread; on her other hand was a stack of newspapers. She beams happily at him. He sees the string on her finger uniting with his, but in a blink of an eye, it disappears from vision; and before he knew what was happening, Nicholas found himself asking someone in his dream to cut away his thread to rid himself of his soulmate.

When he woke up, the fifth mark was slashed diagonally across the first four lines, a deep sense of annoyance resonating within his system.

He had never been at ease with the entire concept of soulmates. People made a big deal out of them—because nowadays, with the population of mankind increasing every three seconds, the probability of you finding yours in this lifetime was bleak. Not to mention, those who harbored soulmate marks (or whatever they're called) are also gradually decreasing as well; something about genes and myths and statistics, Nicholas didn't know the specifics, nor did he want to traverse through various studies and news about a tradition so childish.

He's had five dreams in total—no signs of fate trifling with his lovelife yet. That was for the best. From what he's heard from his other sister, Natasha, the soulmate cycle lasted roughly six lifetimes in vastly different timelines, based on the recurring dreams that numerous people claim to experience. Some people like to think that the souls of those who manage to find each other in all six timelines will eventually get reincarnated into yet another cycle. Some think that there was only originally one pair of soulmates, and their everlasting love transcended time itself, soon scattering snippets of their souls across the cosmos. 

Nicholas, however, thinks it's bullshit.

“Snap out of it already, geez.” He feels Zao's calloused fingers flick his forehead, directing a knowing glare to the male as soon as he breaks away from his thoughts. Zao Yang was his friend from college—one that he was hoping would go away with time. But he never did, surprising the wits out of many, including Nicholas himself. In four years, Zao's ever-growing persistence when it came to his friendship with Nicholas juxtaposed with his endearing laziness and impatience for other things.

If platonic soulmates were a thing, then perhaps Zao was his. But he'd never say that aloud. He'll have to settle for calling him a pest he was unable to outgrow.

“Shut up.” The blond hisses under his breath, fighting back the overflowing urge to curse directly at his peer. “My thoughts are more interesting than whatever it is your mouth is spewing out.”

“Pray tell then, dipshit. Or else I'm going to retell the story about this girl I met at work.”

A deep groan escapes his throat, rolling his eyes behind his fluttered lids. It was five in the afternoon; Saturday. The both of them just got out of work. Nicholas worked in the finance department of this tech company in the heart of the city, and Zao was a Philosophy teacher at the high school downtown. They usually didn't have time to meet up because their individual workloads piled up, but tonight was an exception; because the two of them were invited to a celebration at Raina's, something about a promotion—or maybe it was a birthday. Nicholas was uncertain.

“I'm getting worked up about this stupid soulmate business again,” he clicks his tongue. “Katya said people with five marks are more likely to meet their soulmate before thirty. I'm only twenty-six. Fuck, four years sounds so far away.” He lets his fingers run through his hair, frustrated, he turns towards the blinding lights outside of the car window. The blond faintly hears the bustling engine of other vehicles, clinging onto it to ground him to the earth.

“Most people are thrilled about getting a soulmate—why aren't you?”

“I don't want one. Soulmates are unnecessary. They're a burden.”

“I think you're just saying that because the ends of your dreams are always somewhat bad,”

Nicholas keeps quiet after that.

He stood firm by what he said—soulmates were  _ unnecessary. _ If soulmates inflicted seemingly endless amounts of pain to the other, then Nicholas will simply just deny the concept altogether. He wasn't too keen on getting hurt if ever their paths intersect, nor was he willing to move mountains for someone he doesn't even know the name of, unlike other people. He didn't care if some god insisted that his fate was tied down with hers. Maybe he was hopeful about it once, during the aftermath of his first dream, but the flame gradually dissipated along the way; and perhaps that was for the best.

The girl left him in the second dream—not to mention, he was  _ crying _ during the fourth; the last one was the final straw, he assumed, based on how he cut away the thread that connected him to her.

Nicholas dislikes his soulmate; he had every right to.

“You know, just go back to waxing poetic bullshit about that co-worker of yours.”

“Oh, right! Well, as you know, her name's Anica..”

The remnants of the eventide slowly faded away as the moon rose to its place in the sky. He couldn't comprehend the words slipping carelessly out of Zao's mouth, primarily because the music from the radio drowned away his voice. Raina's shared place with her siblings was about an hour away from his office building only because of the traffic that usually captured the streets during late afternoons. He stares at his wrist.

A breath hitches in his throat.

As he was about to succumb to the looming frustration that was swiveling inside his chest at a rapid pace, he feels the engine of Zao's car die down with a low hum, the muted lights coming from the threshold of the Cirulis' house proving to be enough to prevent Orlovski from wallowing in his cynicism. The dark haired male beside him whistles a tune as he swings his car door open, locking it in the process as he gestured for Nicholas to do the same. He follows him subsequently after, taking his gift from the backseat, hastily getting out of the vehicle.

The walk to the front porch was agonizingly boring. Zao was still rambling on about that Romanian social worker that frequented the school he was teaching in, telling him things like how her hair resembled a mild cherry and how she had eyes that resembled warm coffee. All the blond could think of was that he wasn't even annoyed at the fact that Zao was talking excessively about a girl he didn't even know that well—he was irritated by the fact that his shithead of a friend had  _ no _ soulmate, no marks that weighed him down, no burden to carry.

Gods, he was envious of him for that.

“Tasha and Natalya's here already, right?” The Asian male questions, knocking on the oak door five times before standing still. “I think Fey picked them up from their house a couple of hours ago. Did they text you?”

Nicholas squints his eyes.

“Who's Fey?”

“Dumbass, it's Feng-Mian, my sister!”

Zao was getting ready to berate Nicky for forgetting about his sister, a semi-angry pout settling on his lips. But his companion stays nonchalant and unapologetic, eyes scanning the intricacies of the door, acting as if he was interested about the carvings on them. It's enough to make the brunette sigh, shaking his head in defeat as soon as the same door he was peering at swings open abruptly. There, stood Raīna Lucija, in all her wondrous glory, a dark plaid dress framing her body. She flashes them a soft smile, soon stepping aside to let the both of them inside.

“You're two hours late, but you look like shit, so I won't hold that against you tonight.” She nudges Nicholas by the shoulder teasingly, walking ahead of them to lead them to the common area. Zao is silent, surprisingly enough, causing the taller Belarusian to hike up a confused brow; Zao catches on, soon lowering his head, whispering something incoherent to Nicholas.

The latter male rolls his eyes, a sign that he couldn't hear him properly. His friend punches his shoulders.

“I don't actually know Raina. It feels awkward.”

“Then who invited you?”

“Raivis—you know. Her brother. The one who likes Natalya.” 

The comforting lights coming from the living room was enough to hush the two of them, getting greeted by numerous figures.

The night went by painstakingly slow.

* * *

It was busier than he had anticipated.

When pleasantries were finally exchanged, Nicholas made his way to the corner of the room, a glass filled with warm whiskey on hand. Parties were okay—but he was a listener, not much of a talker, so he didn't fit quite right in with the crowd. Everyone was bustling with glee. Even Natalya was smiling as she conversed with someone named Eli—in truth, she looked better without the usual scowl she fashioned, but he knew that she'd only get angry with him if he told her that verbatim.

Nikolai was wedged between Raina's brother and this blond guy that looked unmistakably annoyed with his two companions. Raimonds? Mainio? Were those their names? He wasn't really sure, nor was he interested in knowing in the first place. They had individual glasses on hand, and even from far away, Nicholas knew that his brother was probably drinking apple juice.

Katya was talking to Rebeka Cīrule—and he knew Rebeka, primarily because she's expressed her negative feelings for Nicholas multiple times already, but apart from that; he also knew her as one of Katya's closest friends. They were in the middle of the room, seated on the sofa, showing each other something in their phone. His sister seems to notice that he was staring, seeing as she waves politely at him, but he shrugs it off and turns away.

Zao was with Alfred Jones. To say that they were noisy would be an understatement; and it was fairly obvious that he wasn't the only one who took note of that, judging by the hesitant boy—Raivis, if he recalled correctly—standing beside them. The aforementioned two were babbling about some game that Alfred bought last week, their flushed faces blending in with the dim red lamp near their corner.

Feng-Mian, or Fey, as Zao called her, was also alone; she was on her phone, a lollipop inside her mouth, typing away fervently on the chair she was situated on. Her eyes momentarily flicker towards Nicholas, sending him a curious glance—but they were gone in a minute, redirecting her stare to the screen of her cell almost immediately.

Then, there was Raina, who was talking to someone he didn't know. It was a guy; kind of tall, dark hair, tired smile, he looked quite similar to one of the other guests in the party, but he didn't know either of them well enough to compare. 

Chiara Vargas was seemingly in an argument with someone in the far left corner of the area. The guy she was talking to looked particularly smug as well, but Chiara was fuming, a familiar hue of red staining her cheeks; but perhaps she was just intoxicated like the majority of them, or maybe she was flustered. Whichever it was, he decides against asking her. He wasn't ready to get screamed at just yet.

It was nine-thirty in the evening when he notices that his latest cup was empty already; traces of dried whiskey tainting the edges of his glass. The music is loud against his ears when he walks to the island of drinks in the kitchen, pounding restlessly, until all he could think of was how he wanted to go home and escape the noise—maybe play with his dog for a few hours just so he can grasp a short moment of genuine euphoria. 

When he arrives in the dark kitchen, he takes a long overdue refill, reading the labels of the whiskey bottle before practically inhaling the liquor. The kitchen was silent—somewhat. Nicholas didn't like a lot of things, but he liked quiet, and the sense of satisfaction that came along with it. He pours himself another glass; quickly drinking the beverage before he begins to sober up for the night. The warmth burned his throat for a short while, but it was replaced by the residual heat inside his chest, his eyes fluttering shut.

Thank the heavens he wasn't driving tonight.

Nicholas is dizzy when he opens his eyes, his vision blurry, his hands numb. There was movement in the kitchen, echoing footsteps, but it was too dark and he was too intoxicated—the alcohol was churning wildly inside his body. Deep breath. He takes a deep breath, shrugging off his worries, attempting to stand up from the stool he made himself sit on.

Waves of mild panic shroud his brain when he doesn't feel the soles of his shoes stand firmly on the floor—and before he was ever aware of what happened, he was on the floor, his elbows propping him up for support. He groans.

Nicholas was not very fond of parties.

“Holy  _ moly _ , are you okay?”

There was a flashlight, a whiff of lavender, there was a palm—extended, reaching out to him carefully.

His breathing is hitched when he looks up from the floor.

She had dark hair, tied in a neat braid, reaching the middle of her back; there were loose strands in front of her face. Darker eyes—similar to the dim ambers of a sunset. He blinks. Her hand was still extended, free for him to take. He doesn't turn away when she chuckles at his strange behavior, left strangely speechless even though the remnants of the liquor slipped away from his system.

He takes her hand in his—this time, he doesn't wake up.

“Should I call one of your friends? I mean—did you come here with friends? Should I call ate Raina? Holy crap, I am  _ so—” _

“It's fine.”

Her wrist had four marks.

She turns the light switch on when Nicholas is steady on his feet, rushing to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. She was all over the place. But that didn't even bother Nicholas at this point—were his eyes playing tricks on him? God, he was confused. Did she know him? Did she have the same dreams? Seeing as she had four lines etched neatly on her wrist, he was pretty sure she did. Why didn't she recognize him? Maybe she only looked like her. He feels his nerves settling down with that thought.  _ Maybe it's not her. _

That idea immediately goes down the drain when the female exits the kitchen with widened eyes and pursed lips, staring at him in disbelief, almost as if she had just been struck by some sort of realization. Nicholas shifts in his place.

This was unnerving.

“Oh, wow—you look better in person?” She places the glass of water on top of the counter, her smile growing more relaxed as she inched closer to Nicholas. “I'm—I'm Chesa? Wait. This feels surreal.”

Her laugh reverberates inside his head like an annoying song he can't get out; she looked exactly like how she was supposed to. He walks past her, stalking up to the direction of the counter, downing the glass of water begrudgingly. This is probably a dream, he thinks to himself, one that was probably taking too long to end. Nicholas avoids the eyes that held glints of wonderment in them, fixating his stare on the tiles of the kitchen instead. The silence swallows the room. If the music from the common area was loud, then the unsteady skips of the male's heart were louder. Loud enough to sober him up. Loud enough for her to hear.

“Nicholas.”

When he murmurs his name, her smile brightens again; taking his hand and shaking it vigorously. He flinches away from her touch—she notices. She drops his palm gently after that.

“You have five marks already,” sheepishly, she rubs the back of her neck, swaying around her body lightly to ease away the anxiety. “See, I only have four! My friends said I should be getting my final dream soon, though, so no spoilers—?”

He gawks at her carefully, and in truth, his stare was piercingly invasive—sending shivers down Chesa's spine. If her eyes were a dark shade of brown, then his was light, resembling warm honey when reflected by the sun; she's probably stared at them a million times in her dreams, but he didn't need to know that, not when this was still new to the both of them.

“Yeah. You wouldn't like it anyway.”

Nicholas is out of words—out of thoughts, out of breath, next to her. There was no blinding light, no cold mist to wake him up this time around; she was real, and it felt like the entire world went down on his shoulders, weighing him down as the lingering sense of uncertainty and distrust enveloped his person. Chesa. Her name sounded familiar, despite the fact that he's never heard of it before. But he knew that if he spoke her name out loud, it would slip off his tongue naturally, because that's what people in reddit threads say. They were willed by the gods to end up together, their fates were entwined—whether or not they wanted each other was unnecessary. But Nicholas is Nicholas, and Chesa is.. Chesa—he doesn't know her. Not in this lifetime, at least.

But he knows the Chesa from his first dream—she was wise and bright, the epitome of warmth. The diamonds accentuated her eyes. The one from the second, he knew her too, even though their time together was brief. She was as daring as the sea, always taking challenges on with a smile. He didn't quite know the one from his third dream all that well, but she was kind and sweet, and she would always take his hand into hers whenever they roamed around the bustling capital of a peculiar city. She was frail in the fourth, and hopeful in the fifth—he knew her in five different lives, but he didn't know her in his.

“Regardless, I'm sure I'll enjoy it! The first four were  _ really _ good, you know?”

He pauses. She didn't know that he cut her away in the last dream.

“Do you, maybe, want to get a cup of coffee tomorrow? Just so we can talk a little?”

He scoffs inwardly after she poses her question.

His pulse went along with the beats of the music. Nicholas could faintly hear the sound of Alfred's voice, loud and obnoxious, and he clings onto it selfishly in order to ground himself once more.  _ Deep breath. Take a deep fucking breath, Nicholas Aliaksei, lest you get consumed by the palpable frustration in the middle of a celebration.  _ So that's what he does—he steadies his breathing, and he walks to get more water, letting it flow down his throat quickly; if he was drunk earlier, then he was sober now, and he was starting to feel the fatigue of this week's work sneak through the edges of his muscles, inside the crevices of his bones. 

Chesa flashes him a smile when he turns, but he instinctively looks away.

“Sorry. I can't.”


	2. Chapter 2

“You—you  _ what?” _

Sunday.

The subtle breeze of the autumn air whistles across the streets of the city. The leaves were sparse across the concrete, red and crisp, and the varying fragrance of the annuals were starting to dissipate; petals joining the place of the leaves on the ground. Nicholas likes fall. He likes summer, spring, and winter—autumn, most of all, for reasons he could never distinguish.

“I told her I can't go out today.” He takes a bite from his crepe after replying calmly, eyes straight up ahead, watching his steps. “Which is not a lie. You and I made plans last week to buy Halloween decorations.”

Natasha stares at him with something akin to disbelief present in her pupils; her mouth agape. She halts Nicholas by pulling on the ends of his scarf, forcing him to stop in the middle of the sidewalk, causing him to nearly choke on his breakfast.

The female only rolls her eyes when he coughs gracelessly.

“I'll buy decorations alone. You go talk to your soulmate.  _ Right. This. Second.”  _ She tugs on his scarf threateningly, a negative aura visibly radiating off of her in the middle of the street. Nicholas feels the points of his ears heat up because of the judging stares that the passersby gave them, discomfort surging through his veins uneasily.

“No. Stop. You're  _ embarrassing _ us.” He shrugs away her hand from his scarf, dusting it soon after. He takes another bite from his crepe; a low hum of satisfaction escaping his lips as he turns away from his sister, walking ahead of her. The decoration store was about two blocks away from here.

Natasha doesn't yield.

“I'm texting her. Give me your phone.” She fashions a pout and knitted brows, crossing her arms a few seconds after she finally caught up with Nicholas. He decidedly ignores her, basking in the peace and momentary tranquility that would later on be interrupted by his nosey, petty, annoying excuse of a sister.

“Fuck off. How are you even sure I have her number?” The distress in his tone of voice gradually increases, soon taking the initiative to reestablish significant distance between Katya and himself by walking forward. He clicks his tongue—his nose scrunching up out of irritation. He loves Katya, he does, but she's always been invasive of his privacy; of everyone's privacy. When they were younger, perhaps it was considered endearing for her to look out for them; but now it was just annoying. 

“Give it!”

Her voice reverberates unsteadily inside his head. In the end, he hands his cellphone to her, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

* * *

_ “Sorry. I can't.” _

_ He mutters lowly, almost inaudible, but it reaches her ears anyway, perking up at his meek response. She was about to speak, but he cuts her off before she can even get a word out, too disoriented to recall his manners. _

_ “I have plans tomorrow. I'm busy during Sundays.” _

_ Chesa musters out a half-hearted expression, retrieving something from the pockets of her purse. A paper—or a card? It was sleek and small, royal blue, with gold linings on its header; carefully engraved on it was her name, her number, and her email. Creative director.  _

_ Chesa Julyanna Légazpi. Nicholas unknowingly etches it into his memory. _

_ “You're lucky I'm your soulmate,” cheeky grin; she has stars in her eyes. “Just give me a ring if you change your mind—or we can schedule something in advance.” _

_ He's waiting for his hand to come forward and return her card, for his mouth to speak and express his distaste for this whole soulmate ordeal, but instead he's left standing there—speechless and dumb-founded—like a really tall grumpy puppy with a massive migraine; Chesa picks up her flashlight from the floor, flashing him one, last signature smile. _

_ “Hopefully you'll remember me in the morning,” she sends him an apologetic glance, but it goes over his head. She turns into a laughing fit when she realizes that he was frozen in place, raising a hand to wave sweetly at Nicholas, a wink flying to his direction. “Because I definitely will.” _

_ She heads to the lively common room. Nicholas could only stare at the vestige of her person in sheer incredulity. _

* * *

If you told Nicholas Aliaksei eighteen years ago that he would be drowning in anxiety while waiting for his soulmate in a stupid, stupid coffee shop, he would probably clutch his stomach laughing and call you a huge  _ fucking _ dumbass.

The songs in the café were warm, contrasting the cold breeze outside of the premises. He had to admit, the shop she chose wasn't entirely the worst—he wasn't a coffee connoisseur, but the aroma of the freshly-brewed beans upon entering the quaint establishment was already enough to signify that they had a decent blend, much to his surprise. The crown molding inside was ornamented with red paper cutouts of pumpkins, leaves, and spider webs, highlighting the main holiday found during fall: Halloween.

Nicholas succumbs to the mundane atmosphere, closing his eyes momentarily.

_ This'll be the last time _ , he assures himself time and time again inside his head,  _ I'll tell her I'm not interested in going through this whole thing. _

The bell from the entrance chimes soundly, echoing for a few seconds more, until it finally comes to a stop. When his eyes flutter open, he sees Chesa standing in front of the door; brown orbs glued to the screen of her phone, lips tugged upwards to form a lingering smile. He was about to raise his hand as a way to call out to her, but her head snapped to his direction midway, almost as if it was instinct for her to do so, almost as if she knew he was there immediately.

When she starts to wave enthusiastically at him, his stare wanders to the marks on her wrists.

“Hey,” she pulls the chair back so she can take a seat, the legs screeching against the floorboards of the shop. “Did you wait long? Sorry 'bout that! I wasn't expecting you to call so soon—especially since you said you weren't available today!”

He wraps his scarf around his neck in defense, basking in its comfort. His eyes scan Chesa briefly, but he avoids meeting her optics this time around.

“You said I should give you a ring if I changed my mind,” for the sake of a proper conversation, his voice is no longer held in the hushed whispers he's grown accustomed to. “So I did.”

Chesa peers at him with interest, shrugging off her coat and draping it across the top rail of her chair. She takes a quick moment to settle onto the cushion, sighing in satisfaction soon after. He watches her intently.

“Sorry! You don't look like the type who changes his mind easily, so I figured I'd have to wait a while.”

Nicholas feels his heartstrings getting pulled on harshly with how the truth in her statement rang aggressively throughout his system, jolting him with a feeling of uneasiness. Maybe it was soulmate intuition—or maybe she was just a good judge of character. He didn't know. He wasn't supposed to care, anyway. And he didn't. Or maybe he did. He could feel his brain going through millions and millions of thought processes, the ghost of a headache creeping up his nerves. In a futile attempt to soothe himself, he takes a sip from his coffee.

“I was wondering,” she starts, her eyes reading the menu in front of her. “Can you tell me about the dreams you've had so far?”

He pauses. “No.”

A pout captures Chesa's lips, pink lightly dusting her cheeks as she raises a hand to call for the attention of one of the waiters. “Come on, Nicky!”

“Did you just call me Nicky?”

“Not the point!”

He waits for her to finish ordering before letting his stiff shoulders relax lightly, placing his cup back down on the table gently. The usual annoyance is brewing somewhere inside his chest when she beams at him for the nth time, wanting to get all of this over with once and for all. He'll humor her requests out of common courtesy, but when all is silent and she is rendered speechless, he'll drop it all on her and leave.

“You were a king in the first one,” her smile grows less apparent, but the corners of her lips are still tugged upward. He continues. “I don't know who I was. But you always walked ahead of me—so I figured I was someone in a lower position.”

He takes a minute to observe her features—still left aghast by the uncanny similarities between her and the person in his dreams. It takes everything out of him to pry away his gaze and avert it elsewhere. She notices.

“A king, huh?” She folds the sleeves of her blouse up until it finally reaches her elbows, the light from outside shining down on her skin, the warmth of the sun mixing in with the warmth she radiated effortlessly. “That sounds out of my league—maybe that's why you were a Royal Advisor in mine.”

That peaks his interest, his head tilting to the side as he urges her to elaborate, his eyes making their way to study the four lines on her wrist.

She smirks confidently at him as a response.

“Curious, aren't you?” The sound of her laughter makes Nicholas want to tear his hair out as it echoes endearingly inside his mind. “I'll tell you my dreams once you finish telling me yours!”

He obliges.

He tells her about the second one—about how she walked beside him during sunset, leading him to the docks of an unfamiliar shore. He tells her how she was barefoot even when she finally ventured inside the ship she was assigned to, and how idiotic Nicholas finds that to be. Chesa laughs at his comment, but she says nothing in retaliation, directing her focus to his stories and the frappuccino she ordered.

When he finally transitioned to his third dream, she found herself gradually engraving the highs and lows of his voice to memory, almost getting lost in the sound. But she snaps out of it before she could begin to indulge in her own daydream—processing the story he was telling her. In the third dream, she was a sorceress, a mage, or something along those lines. They frequented markets to run errands together, for some strange reason, always picking up the same exact list of herbs and potions. He told her she smelled like fresh parchment there; pausing afterwards, his eyes twitching lightly, inwardly scolding himself for slipping up. She doesn't mind, though, but that didn't stop him from pursing his lips and dwelling uneasily in the silence.

When Chesa releases a sigh, he takes it as a sign to continue.

The fourth one was hard for Nicholas to word out properly. He starts off by telling her he wasn't sure what they were in the dream—for the most part, they looked particularly normal, apart from the fact that they seemed to live significantly longer than the usual life expectancy of a mortal. His words are hazy and vague, and she struggles to keep up with his rambling, but she urges him to continue with the story anyway. There was a zoo, he told her, and she took pictures of him as they roamed around. There were clubs, cameras, a train—and then, when the word "festival" escapes the comforts of his lips, Chesa's smile falters ever so slightly.

“There you have it.” He mutters, his gaze instinctively falling to the floor. Chesa fumbles with the hem of her scarf; before soon knocking on the table twice to gather his attention.

He doesn't mention the fifth dream—almost as if there was an unspoken rule between the two of them.

“Who have you told so far?” She bites the seams of her lips, her eyes expectant. “About me, I mean.”

He scoffs at her question—she flinches when she hears it, her chest deflating soon after; but he's too baffled by her query to notice, so he continues by rolling his eyes, taking in the scent of pumpkin spice from behind the counter of the coffee shop. “One of my sisters. Only her.”

The tension rises, nearly suffocating Nicholas with how awkward it was turning out to be; the female tries her best to deflect, to diminish the ever-growing bitterness from within her.

“Uh,” he breathes out. “How about you?”

She raises her head, grinning, although it was empty.

“Well, my family, of course! And then there's also 'Monds and his siblings.” She pauses for a second, before leaning in towards him from the other side of the table. “He called you a doormat, actually. 'Beka—his sister—also said you were an eyesore.”

He rolls his eyes. 'Monds was probably Raimonds, he assumed.

“Well, why don't you listen to them?”

She props an elbow atop the surface of the mahogany table, her chin soon finding its place on her palm, her heart thumping rhythmically against her chest. His fingers twitch when she brings her arm up, feeling as if he'd get pricked by her skin if ever they made contact.

A shiver runs down his spine; it wasn't because of the cold.

“For starters, they don't know you that well?” Chesa watches the passing vehicles through the glass window, pupils subtly gleaming with interest. She tucks a strand of her brown hair behind her ear, making a mental note to head to the restroom later to freshen up.

He follows the trail of her gaze, soon finding himself watching the cars as well. “You don't, either.”

Chesa looks at Nicholas through the corner of her eyes—she sucks in the insides of her cheeks, her ears growing warm, primarily because she stared a little longer than necessary at the male's jawline. Then, once she feels her nerves settling down, she answers him.

“I know enough to want to pursue you, at least.”

Nicholas glares at her fondly after this, hiding his expression by raising his cup to cover the lower half of his face. 

“You are _insufferable,_ Chesa Julyanna.”

It was one-seventeen in the afternoon when Chesa smiled the most genuine smile he's ever seen before—if Nicholas found himself not wanting to part ways with her after that, then he would never tell her.

“Thanks! I'll take pride in knowing that you have my name memorized.”

* * *

The rest of the afternoon went by in a blur.

It was filled with instances wherein Nicholas would try to sneak in and tell her about the fact that he didn't want anything to do with his soulmate, but the chance to trudge on with his plan never quite arrived, primarily because she beamed at him often with musings of her own stories, never giving him a chance to interject.

He spoke once in a while, but only to answer more of her unnecessary questions. She asked him about his siblings—it surprised them both when they found out that Chesa was friends with two of them, Nikolai and Natalya. She knew of Natasha, but mainly because of Rebeka, but she confessed that she's never heard of Nicholas before. He understood that. He didn't live with the three of them; he moved out a couple of years ago, and he wasn't all that involved in their ever-growing circle of friends, not that he was interested anyway.

She asked him if his hair was naturally platinum blond—he took offense to that. She doubled-down laughing, and apologized after.

He was beginning to feel like the gods bestowed him with a noisy best friend (Zao) as preparation for Chesa—because Nicholas was almost 100% sure that she could talk for days. Truth be told, he didn't mind, he's never been good at talking, so he was overflood with relief when Chesa did all the speaking for the both of them.

She supplied him with sufficient information about herself as well. She told him about her family, how she lived with her siblings, and how she worked at this digital-something-company as a creative director. Filipino-descent; she spoke the language fluently despite the fact that she hasn't been there in years. He knew her a little better now, and over time, he slowly got accustomed to her presence, and he wanted to kick himself dead for that. Gods. Only Nicholas would end up enjoying the company of someone he was supposed to bid farewell to.

“—since  _ high school, _ gods damn it. High school!” She finishes her story with a hearty laugh, clutching her stomach with both of her hands, all the while using her legs to ground her to her seat. Nicholas watches her, soon peeking at the watch on his wrist—almost five in the afternoon. He had plans to grab dinner with Zao and Natalya tonight.

“I should get going.” Was Nicholas' reply once she settled down in her place, fingers wiping the corner of her eyes to rid herself of her happy tears. It takes her a while to register what he said, but when she does, she sends him an assuring glance, lightly peeking at the five marks on his wrist.

He was about to stand up from his seat, but he halts in place when he comes to a realization, soon emitting a low groan; his companion only hikes up a questioning brow, puffing up her cheeks in the process.

“You didn't tell me about your dreams,” he directs a sharp glare at her wholeheartedly, but she ends up taking it lightly; fiddling with the hem of her coat.

“I forgot about that, sorry!” She rubs her nape nervously, a closed-eye grin capturing her pink lips. “Maybe I can tell you the next time we go out, Nicky!”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Is that all you picked up from what I said?”

“I'll see you next week, Chesa.”

The reluctance in his voice is gone—comfort and relaxation taking over its stead. He doesn't notice the growing adoration in Chesa's stare; and she's grateful. He looks better unguarded. For a while, she weighs her options and dwells on whether or not she should tell him that verbatim, but he'd probably scoff at her if ever she told him that—so she doesn't.

Her heart flutters lightly when he says her name. Filled with determination, she nods quickly, raising a hand to wave at him. He turns away before she could notice his sudden breathlessness.

Before he exits the premises, he hears her call out to him one last time.

“See you next week, sungit!”

Maybe he can confront her then. If he doesn't, then at least she can tell him more stories.


End file.
